


What We Do in the Shadows

by adjovi



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: F/F, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 05:30:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16469666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adjovi/pseuds/adjovi
Summary: Halloween Party at the Physical Kids Cottage. Eliot's dedication to his carefully crafted persona gets in his own way.For the @neitherlandslibrary Trick or Treat challenge. For @physicalkideliot who requested a surprise about Queliot.





	What We Do in the Shadows

Clichéd as it might be, the Physical kids _owned_ Halloween. Eliot had been planning this night with Margo for almost a month now, and he was pleased that everything was finally ready. He checked himself out in the mirror, pulling at his shirtsleeves and running a hand down his chest. Perfection. Margo appeared in the mirror behind him, in what she had assumed would be a couple’s costume, not really getting the reference he had so painstakingly pulled together. But, she was slaying in her sexy vampiress outfit and he was pretty sure everyone would be too horny and fucked up to care.

“We make this shit look _good_ ,” she purred, walking around him and smiling at herself in the mirror. She ran a hand over her hips, flashing plastic fangs.

“Bambi, we make everything look good.” He pecked her on the temple and held out an elbow. “Shall we get this party started?”

The room had already been filling with early arrivals, looking around in awe at the décor. They really had outdone themselves, something between Lady MacBeth meets the Upside Down. And ok, maybe they had been a little high when planning, but it worked. Eliot made his way over to the cauldron of a gin-based drink he he had spent the last few days perfecting—not too sweet, slightly herby without being too floral, but deceptively strong. The spell he cast had the ice-cold liquid bubbling merrily away, and he ladled out two cups, handing one to Margo.

“Mmm.” Margo speculated, tapping a black-lacquered nail against the cup. “This should get everyone real fucked up.”

“That’s the idea.” He spied Todd holding court over a couple of first years in one corner, dressed as SpongeBob. How he thought he’d get laid in that outfit was beyond Eliot, but who the fuck knew when it came to alcohol and horned up Magicians. Margo elbowed him in the side, hard, drawing his attention to the door. His heart most definitely did not start beating harder at the sight of Quentin as Han Solo, accompanied by Slave Leia Julia. Jesus Christ. He was imaging all the things he could do with that blaster strapped to Quentin’s thigh, but he shoved all that down. Instead, he just nodded at both. making his way over to man the cauldron again. He flashed a toothy grin. “What’s your poison, kids?”

“Hi.” Quentin did that awkward ducking his head and shoving his hair behind his ear thing. He looked fucking delicious.

“Oooh. What is it?” Julia bent over, holding her long braid back to look into the cauldron. Eliot glanced a look at her tits, he was only human—and shit. Penny was one lucky guy.

“Little of this, little of that.”Eliot ladled them both drinks, waiting in anticipation for them to down them. “Good?” They both nodded in appreciation. “You know, you guys make a cute couple.” He winked at Quentin, who just raised his eyebrows strangely and frowned at him. Looking away, Quentin drained his glass before holding it out again. Ah. So, it was going to be one of _those_ kinds of nights.

Julia grabbed Quentin by the elbow, spinning him away, crowding closer to him and whispering something urgent to which he just shrugged. Eliot saw her roll her eyes in response. _Not that he was watching_. Julia saw someone across the room that Eliot vaguely recognized as a Knowledge kid, and she looked back at Quentin, scanning his face for a long beat before gliding across the room to envelope the other woman in a hug.

Eliot moved around the front of the bar to stand behind Quentin, almost touching, but not quite. “You know,” he bent down to whisper into his ear, “I could go with the obvious ‘is that a lightsaber in your pocket—”

Quentin cut him off shortly. “Han Solo didn’t carry a lightsaber.”

Eliot rolled his eyes with what he assumed was apparent affection, but Quentin didn’t exactly seem amused. “I _know_ that.” He was annoyed with himself that he sounded testy in response.

“Quen- _tin_ ” Margo sing-songed, materializing from nowhere. “Come on, stud.” She winked at Eliot before grabbing Quentin by the wrist, pulling him away from him into the throng of the party proper, which had swelled considerably since they had first come down, dragging him towards—oh. Alice, apparently leaning into her namesake, all dressed up for the Queen of Hearts and ready to hop down the rabbit hole. She looked fucking adorable, and her eyes lit up at the sight of Quentin. Eliot’s lizard brain flashed white hot anger, but he quickly shook himself out of it, taking another long drink. Not like he had the right.

Penny and Kady made their entrance, he in an ill-fitting Harry Potter outfit, and she as—sexy Hermione? Whatever worked. They were hanging on to each other and making eyes in a way that was surprising, given the Penny and Julia of it, but Julia just waved happily seeing the two of them, beckoning them to come dance. They detoured for refreshments first.

“Who are you supposed to be? Lestat?” Penny nodded at him, waiting for his drink. Quentin had come up behind for a refill, dragged by Julia who smiled brightly, kissing first Penny, then Kady, on the lips, wrapping her arm affectionately around the other woman’s waist. _Whatever worked._

“Not Lestat, but thanks for playing.” Eliot filled everyone’s cups, pointedly trying to get Quentin to look at him, but his gaze seemed fixed anywhere but. “At least my costume fits.” At that, he did get a chuckle out of Quentin, but Penny just narrowed his eyes at the man.

“Laugh it up, fuzzball. I swiped this from the back of _your_ closet.” Penny openly laughed at Quentin, following both women to the makeshift dance floor. Quentin just rolled his eyes, allowing himself to be pulled along by Julia.

Eliot’s foul mood did not improve as the evening wore on, watching from the sidelines and steadily getting more and more inebriated. From the loose, glassy look of Quentin’s and several of his groups’ eyes, they had sampled some of that third year’s wares—what’s his name? Josh? Whose werewolf costume was just a _tad_ bit too realistic to not be the real thing. He shook his head. Even _he_ knew better than to bang a werewolf.

He felt Margo come up beside him. “You done sulking yet?” She nudged him with her hip, planting a hand on his shoulder blade and pushed him towards Quentin’s drunken flailings.

He stood his ground, not moving. “I’m not sulking. I’m observing.” He nodded towards Josh. “That dude definitely fucked a werewolf.”

Margo shrugged indifferently. “Yep. Come on.” She tugged on his hand, trying to get him to move, turning to face him with an incredulous look when he wouldn’t. She scoffed at him. “You’re such a fucking idiot, you know that?” She shook her head at him in disappointment before flouncing away towards the writhing mob, grinding up on some girl he didn’t know who was dressed as Harley Quinn.

Eliot’s attention was drawn away from the dancers as several newcomers came in, and he began to resent his position as self-designated bartender. Distracted and frustrated, he watched from the corner of his eye as Julia nudged a very drunken Alice who crashed into Quentin, giggling and hanging on to him for dear life. He was laughing, too. They all were. Maybe this was better. Maybe Quentin needed a nice girl. He let the ladle hit the cauldron with a splash. People could fucking serve themselves. He poured himself half a glass of straight whiskey and headed out for a smoke.

***

Eliot sat in the dark for a long while, smoking, eyes following the plume upwards as it colored from the string of lights around the porch. The night was growing late, and muted music blared through whenever the door opened. He felt someone approaching, knew by the gait that it was Quentin, but made no move to indicate that he had noticed. He took a swig from his drink, not even feeling the burn anymore, before putting the cup back on the shitty outdoor table that had seen one too many winters.

“Hiding out?” Quentin was carefully enunciating his words in the time-honored tradition of those trying to seem soberer than they actually were. He swung himself onto the chair nearest Eliot, teetering close but then pushing himself back a bit from the table.

Eliot shrugged before taking another drag, not really looking at him. “Thought you’d left.” He wasn’t sure exactly _where_ this wrath was coming from. Ok. If he was being honest, he knew exactly where. He just didn’t want to hold it up for close examination.

Quentin made a face of disgust, mouth agape and eyebrows drawn down, a small huff of annoyance passing his lips. He awkwardly pushed himself back from the table, the chair legs catching on the soft grass, and placed his hands on the table, standing and ready to leave. He turned, but then thought the better of it, glaring back at Eliot. “You know what? Jules was right about you.” He did turn completely away then.

Eliot let out a deep breath. “Wait, what?” Quentin spun around, overcorrected, and caught himself by grabbing a chair. “You told Julia?”

Quentin barked a humorless laugh. “Of _course_ I told Julia.” He pulled back the chair, flinging himself back down, the rickety wicker groaning in protest. “She’s my best friend, and we’ve been hooking up for what, El? Like two months?” Three days shy of two months to be exact, but it wasn’t like he was counting. “And here, I thought Margo was just being mean, trying to set me up with Alice. You didn’t tell her, did you?”

He hadn’t. He almost had. Several times, in fact, just barely catching himself at the last second. He had been practically bursting with the news, wanting to share, feeling the secret literally thrumming right underneath his skin. It wasn’t like he had made his desires a secret. But, there was a not insignificant part of him that felt like telling her would break the delicate balance of their own universe, and in doing so, he would lose the most important part of himself. He _needed_ her like he needed air. And, one of the guiding principles in their little world was you definitely didn’t _like_ the ones you hooked up with. That was the real crux of the issue here. He liked Quentin. More than, even. This was all so fucked. He took another long drink, eyeing Quentin over the rim. Deflection, then. “So, what did Julia say about me?”

Quentin shrugged, tipping the chair back onto two legs and crossing his arms over his chest. “That you would break my heart. That you would never give me what I really wanted.”

He smirked at him, in what he hoped was a lascivious way but knew he failed when Quentin just rolled his eyes at him. He softened his tone. “Ok. So, what do you want, Q?”

Quentin let the chair fall forward again. “Wait. How is this all on _me_? What the hell are we even doing here, Eliot?”

He sighed, thinking of a million flirty ways to answer this, but they all just felt empty. So, the truth it was. Fuck. “All evidence to the contrary, but I suck at this.”

Quentin shook his head in confusion. “Suck at what? Talking?”

Eliot closed his eyes, steeling himself. “Yeah, ok?” He waved his hands between the two of them. “This!” He stubbed out his cigarette, trying to buy some time. “I, uh. Look. I’m not very good at—relationships. Like thinking of anything beyond a one-night-stand pretty much terrifies me.”

”Ok _ay_.”Q drew out the word slowly, licking his lips. Eliot knew that tell. He was definitely overthinking. “So—what’s this, then?” It was his turn to wave his hand between the two of them.

He sighed, putting both hands on the top of his head. “I don’t—” He wasn’t sure he was ready to answer that just yet.

Quentin seemed to take pity or grow tired of his inability to articulate anything meaningful. Or, maybe he just couldn’t help himself and babbled to fill in any empty spaces. “Look. If it helps, I’m not exactly experienced at this, either. I mean, I’ve had exactly one girlfriend in my entire life. One. For three months, junior year of undergrad. Until she figured out that she wasn’t Julia.”

Eliot couldn’t help but laugh at that, dropping his hands onto the table. “Well, in case you haven’t noticed, Q, I’m not exactly Julia, either.”

Quentin rolled his eyes again. “Yeah. I’ve noticed.”

He steepled his fingers over his mouth, pulling at his lower lip. “Look. I’ve hooked up with a _lot_ of guys.” He shrugged again, then approximated tiny by holding out his index finger and thumb. ”Small handful of girls.” He let himself drop to the back of his chair, like that actually put some distance between them. “And, generally speaking, I have a strict rule about never mixing friendship with—pleasure.”

A wave of hurt passed over Quentin’s face so quickly that he almost missed it. He nodded slowly, schooling his features in what Eliot guessed was his attempt to reflect careful neutrality, but his eyes were a tad too wide to really sell it. “Right.” He blew out a long breath and shoved back a bit away from the table, arms braced against it as if to stand. He nodded again. “Well. You shouldn’t have any problem finding a willing body in there.” He jerked his head back towards the Cottage. “I know pickings are slim at this time of night, but that _What We Do in the Shadows_ shit is really working for you.”

Eliot ran a hand over his face, equally impressed that Quentin got the reference and yet filled with dread that he was, in fact, managing to make things even worse. “No, wait.” He let one hand drop to the table, palm up. “I’m fucking this up.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “And, I don’t want to—” He shook his head. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m generally more comfortable living in the superficial than talking about actual feelings.” He threw his head back. “Fuck!”

Quentin stared at him for a long beat, waiting for Eliot to meet his eyes, clearly working things out in his head. “Ok. So—I guess I need to be the one to say this.” He sniffed. “I like you, ok? I like _being_ with you.” Apparently, Eliot had a look on his face, because Quentin quickly course-corrected. “Ok. Yeah.” He chuckled. “Ye- _ah_. But also? I just like hanging out with you.”

Eliot’s was heart beating loudly in his ears. He had one chance at this, and he needed to choose his words carefully. One had to be precise when essentially blowing up a friendship. He decided to put all his cards on the table. “So—yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I may have misled you a bit earlier.” At the way Quentin’s face fell, he sped up, trying not to lose his audience. “I knew you hadn’t left the party yet.” He shrugged, trying for casual, although he felt like he was about to explode. He breathed deeply, trying to gain some semblance of control. “I knew the minute you got here tonight, who you were talking to, who you were flirting with, and until recently, how many drinks you’d had.” He flicked his eyes towards Quentin, but what he found there was unreadable. “I know your class schedule. I know where I need to be pretty much at all times to have the best chance to run into you.”

Quentin tried to look scandalized, but the humor in his eyes betrayed him. “Um—that’s slightly stalker-y.”

“Just a skosh.” He drained the rest of his cup—liquid courage and all that. “So, yeah. I like you, too. And, it fucking scares the shit out of me.”

Quentin scratched at his temple, clearly trying to find the right words himself. “Um—” He tapped his index finger against his lips in the _most_ distracting way. “So—where do we go from here?”

“Well, I can think of several—”

“Eliot—” Quentin twisted his head around on his neck as if stretching it.

“Right. Right.” He narrowed his eyes a bit, annoyed at himself, but he pathetically needed to ask. “So, to be clear, you’re _not_ into Alice? I mean, that Wonderland get up—” Quentin shook his head disbelievingly. “Ok. _Ok_.” He held his hands out in surrender. “So, breakfast?”

Quentin drew his brows together in confusion. “Uh—aren’t you skipping a few steps?”

Eliot shrugged. “I figured I’d get the hard stuff out of the way up front. And besides, I just assumed—”

“You know what they say about assuming—”

Eliot smiled. “Q, please. I already feel like the asshole here, so—”

Quentin smiled back easily, nodding. “So, breakfast? I can do breakfast.”

Eliot pushed himself off of his chair, standing up and holding out a hand towards Quentin. “So, Han, you want to show me what you can do with that blaster?” _Jesus Christ._ He actually said that out loud.

Quentin grabbed his hand tightly, pulling himself all the way onto his tip-toes, momentum awkwardly crashing him against Eliot’s lips. Eliot chuckled, sliding his hand around Quentin’s neck, slowing them down into a proper kiss. Quentin sighed against him, grabbing onto his waist to steady himself, tilting his head to get a better angle. He parted his lips against Eliot’s tongue, making a little sound in the back of his throat and letting his tongue slip over Eliot’s own, only pulling back when he ran out of breath. Quentin flicked his eyes up to meet his. “K—so breakfast?”

Eliot huffed a laugh against his lips. “Yeah. Come on.” He pulled Quentin towards the door, but Quentin backed him up against it, kissing him again, so he had to twist the handle blindly from behind his back. As he pulled them both inside, he heard a slow clap. They both froze. He twisted around in shock, finding the common room empty. All except for Margo, perched on the arm of the couch, clearly waiting for them.

“Took you two asshats long enough, Jesus.” She leered at them, dangling an enchanted two-way mirror by the handle in one hand. “Fuck, that was like watching Buffy and Angel will-they-or-won’t-they bullshit.”

Eliot felt dread flood his veins, settling somewhere in his belly. “You knew? This whole time?”

“ _Of course_ I fucking knew. What do you take me for, bitch?” Her mouth quirked up on one side and she shook her head at him fondly. “Newsflash: you two are _terrible_ at this. The way you look at each other when you think no one else is watching? Fucking amateurs. You literally stalk him, El.” She shrugged at his indignation. “What? You just admitted it.”

Quentin unwound himself from around Eliot. “Wait. So, why are you always trying to set me up with Alice?”

She shrugged again. “I was trying to light a fire under his dumb ass.” She listed her head at Quentin. “And, you’re hilarious when you’re flustered.” She wasn’t wrong.

Quentin let his arms drop to his side with a slap. “Unfucking _believable_.” He shook his head, wiping a hand over his face, then cocked his head towards the stairs, raising his eyebrows towards Eliot.

Eliot winked at her, nodding genuinely in gratitude and admiration. “Right. Well, we can continue this delightful discussion another time.” Quentin just rolled his eyes, making his way over towards the stairs and clomping up the first few.

Margo chucked him on the arm, giving him a small, but sincere smile. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Eliot let out a small laugh he had been holding back in relief. “Thanks, coach,” he said over his shoulder, following Quentin up the stairs. He was definitely going to do something about that blaster.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is set in any timeline other than 40 (and prob not 23). Special thanks goes out to the amazing beta fu of sullyandlulu who helped me whip this story into something I liked. Betas are magical, folks. :) Kudos and comments are love.


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